


The Warehouse on Chester

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Hood/Arsenal (Comics)
Genre: Fake Restaurant, Food Porn, Humor, M/M, Semi-established relationship, Suggestive language, Tim is a Foodie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:49:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21438208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: “Tim wants to take me out for dinner at the fake restaurant you made up.”Roy laughed so hard he just about fell over. “Oh, you are so fucked, man.”“Shut up.”
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 48
Kudos: 465





	The Warehouse on Chester

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to say that TaneKore is either a devil or an angel because the ideas she gives me are second to none. Beta read by strawberryjei and txbookeater.

As with most of Roy’s ideas, this one ended up going too far. 

Jason didn’t mind at first. It was amusing, a social experiment that tickled his funny bone and appealed to his belief that people are, at their core, idiots. The fact that the hairbrained scheme was even working should have been proof enough, but no. Roy wanted to keep going because as stupid as it was, they were earning money off it, money that was sorely needed to keep their dumbasses equipped with all the little toys needed for their particular lifestyle. 

It still amazed him how much a person could make from advertising revenue for a restaurant that didn’t exist. Well, sort of. They’d have more money if Roy didn’t keep blowing it on shit for his trick arrows and the Roybots.

The website was easy enough to design since Jason didn’t have to deal with it. Roy brainstormed the whole thing, then put him in charge of what they both called the _ food porn. _ They didn’t have a set menu, each meal was influenced by a mood, a whim, some ephemeral concept that appealed to food snobs who thought they knew it all and were on the lookout for the next big _ experience _. 

If anyone were to eat the food Jason took pictures of, the only experience they’d have would be in the back of an ambulance on the way to the ER. 

He was still rather proud of how he made toilet bowl pellets look like seared scallops. The garlic-sage brown butter sauce was real though, even if most of it went over some cheap as hell pork chops. It brightened what was otherwise a shitty dinner, and he happily wrote his fake review afterward while the taste was still in the back of his throat, posting it to the travel ratings site under yet another fake account. At this point, there were so many that Roy needed to keep a spreadsheet to track the name and IP address associated with it. 

They really needed to expand their social circle. 

Roy was in it to see if he could make their warehouse restaurant experience the number one place in Gotham on some travel website Jason couldn’t give three shits about. He was in it because he liked pulling a fast one. Although that was starting to wear thin now that they were several months in and the damn burner phone they were using as the main phone line for The Warehouse on Chester was ringing almost nonstop for a reservation to one of the most exclusive restaurants in Gotham. 

Take now, for instance. 

Jason grunted as he hit the ground, the wind knocked out of him by Croc’s massive tail. What the hell, did he grab the wrong phone on the way out the door? Shit, if this thing broke, their little experiment was fucked. 

“Anytime now, Arsenal!” He rolled to the left, dodging another attempt by that stupid tail to make friends with his head. Bullets didn’t do a damned thing against that thick, pebbly hide. 

“Almost done!” Roy called out from the semi-cover of a collapsed wall. 

The current plan was to electrocute Killer Croc and send his lumpy ass to sleep, so that involved the rewiring of more than a few of Roy’s arrows. Plan E needed to work and fast. Jason didn’t think they had time to come up with a Plan F besides having it stand for fucked because they definitely would be then. 

The phone rang insistently even as Croc charged him yet again, the assault coming from the front this time. Jason rolled and tried not to groan as his ribs protested the effort. Why were they down here again? Going toe-to-toe with a human-crocodile hybrid was not how he wanted to spend his Tuesday night. Tuesdays were for date nights with Tim, their new relationship still in its fledgling stage. And if life kept fucking things up as it was so wont to do, there it would stay.

Jason raised an arm and fired his gun point blank into Croc’s wide-open mouth. “You’re not helping my sex life at all,” he growled, shooting again for good measure as the bullets actually did what they’re supposed to and made the monster hurt. 

Croc reared back and roared, the sound reverberating off the narrow sewer walls even as blood and bits of teeth sprayed from his mouth.

Wincing, Jason scrambled backward in another attempt to find some cover.

“I think you pissed him off, Hood!” Roy shouted; voice closer than before.

“No shit, Sherlock.” Looking behind him, he came face to face with a pair of familiar boots. 

“Just stay there.” Roy punctuated the statement by raising his bow and drawing back the already knocked arrow. “This might go _ boom. _”

“Might?” Jason barely had a chance to say when the world around him rocked as the entire sewer lit up. 

Whatever Roy had done to his arrows, it worked and then some. Electricity crackled around them as Croc writhed in pain, then fell into the channel of water where his entire body spasmed as the powerful current found another means to travel. By the time the charge ran out, Croc’s body was smoking in the fetid water. 

Sitting up, Jason winced again as ribs protested any and all forms of movement.

Roy sighed as he lowered his bow. “You think he’s dead?” 

“Doubt it. But at least he can be transported now. Call your contact and get them here ASAP. I wanna get paid.” 

“You just want to take Tim out for a change.” 

“What’s wrong with that?” Jason went on the defensive. He was sick and tired of Tim having to pay for everything when they went out.

“Nothing. Was that the phone I heard earlier?” 

Come to think of it, the ringing had stopped. Jason reached into a pocket in his body armor and removed the burner. Miraculously, it was still in one piece. 

As if on cue, it started again.

“How does thing even have a signal down here?” he asked, cracking open his hood so that he would sound like a human being instead of someone who’d had laryngitis for the past decade. The stench from the sewer assaulting his nose nearly made him gag. “Hello, you’ve reached the Warehouse on Chester. How may I help tonight?”

The spiel and fake French accent he used to answer rolled easily off his tongue, so practiced was his bullshit response to most of the calls they received. 

“Finally,” said an all too familiar voice. “My name is Tim Wayne and I’d like to know what your soonest available reservation is.” 

Jason just about dropped the phone. Holy fuck. Oh man, was he in for it now if Tim recognized his voice. At the same time, why was he calling? Some WE client he was trying to schmooze for Lucius? “The soonest we have available is…” he rattled off a date about six months in the future. 

“You’re kidding.” There was no mistaking the exasperation in Tim’s voice.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Wayne, but we are booked solid. As you may already know, we’re only open a few nights a week so that our chef can prepare and deliver a dining experience that –” 

“Yeah, I’ve seen that online,” Tim interrupted. “Do you have a cancellation list I can get my name added to?” 

Jason adopted an affronted tone. “Mr. Wayne, we might be described as a pretentious little hipster place, but people do not cancel reservations here.” 

Beside him, Roy choked as he realized who Jason must be speaking with. He slapped a hand over his mouth to keep the cackles in. 

Over the line, Tim sighed. “Right, thanks. I’m sure I can find somewhere else for an intimate dinner with my boyfriend.” 

He hung up immediately after. 

Jason gaped as he lowered the phone. “Shit.” 

“What?” Roy snickered. “Trouble in paradise?” 

“That was Tim.” 

“So I figured.” 

“No, you don’t get it. That was _ Tim.” _

“I heard you the first time, Jay.” 

“Tim wants to take me out for dinner at the fake restaurant you made up.” 

Roy laughed so hard he just about fell over. “Oh, you are so fucked, man.”

“Shut up.”

* * *

The next time Jason saw Tim was a few days later when they went out for dinner at a small French-inspired bistro that had amazing food, even better dessert, and mediocre wine. The place was just pretentious enough a shirt and tie was needed, although a guy could get away with wearing jeans if they weren’t full of holes or covered in oil stains. There was precisely one pair of pants in Jason’s limited wardrobe that fit the bill. 

“I don’t think I’m a wine kind of guy,” Jason said, holding his glass up to give it a critical eye. 

Tim shrugged. “You’re still drinking it.” 

“Booze is booze.” He took a sip, then another bite of the delectable mousse that was sadly growing smaller and smaller the longer it remained on the table. 

“And chocolate is chocolate,” Tim commented, his own spoon dipping into the small island of méringue and custard on his plate. _ Ile flottante _ was what it said on the menu and Jason had to admit, the méringue did look like it was floating. 

“That’s sacrilege.” Jason pointed his spoon at Tim. “Just like your damn coffee, all chocolate is not made equal.”

“Tell that to my taste buds.”

“Your taste buds are shit from all the coffee you drink.”

Smirking, Tim’s mouth closed around the delicate white cloud.

Fuck. In his pants, little Jay stirred to life as images of those same lips wrapped around his cock flooded Jason’s mind. He and Tim had gone about the whole relationship thing ass-backwards, starting with alley and rooftop fucks when the adrenaline was high and the rush from a good fight still clouded their better judgement. Sweat and blood tinted those early encounters, as well as some other questionable fluids, but it was always the sight of Tim and his fucking mouth in some parody of a blowjob that made Jason squirm the most. 

The little shit knew it too. 

Asshole. 

“Keep that up and we’ll be christening the backseat of your pretty car soon.”

There was no mistaking the heat entering Tim’s eyes. “You have to admit, keeping our hands to ourselves for three dates is not one of the best ideas we’ve ever had.”

Jason let out a pained sigh. They’d been perfectly happy with their arrangement until Alfred got wind of it, suggesting that perhaps they should try the more traditional approach to see if they were as compatible as their hormones believed they were. Unspoken were the words that this was more than Bruce ever did and neither of them could resist the subtle dig. This was technically date number two. 

“At the rate we’re going, it’ll be another month before the third one happens.” 

“I tried to set something up for that to happen sooner, but it fell through.” Tim made a face as he sipped his wine. “Six month waiting list, my ass.” 

It was hard to keep his laughter contained so that he doesn’t give it all away. Jason was rather proud of himself as he dug into his mousse. “Wow, you must be desperate.” 

“Desperate to get laid again? Yes. But this place is supposed to be awesome and everything I’ve read about it makes me believe it’s an experience we’d both enjoy.” To say that Tim looked peeved was an understatement. “I’m tempted to run a trace on the phone number to see if I can sneak on to the list. What kind of restaurant only gives a section of town as an address?”

A place that didn’t exist.

“Some place that’s trying to evade what passes for health and safety inspections in this town?”

“I think it’s a pop-up,” Tim stated flatly. “One that uses the same location each night it’s open. It would explain the irregular hours too.”

Someone had given his and Roy’s fake restaurant more than a little bit of thought. Dammit, the last thing they needed was Tim on their trail. He’d either laugh his ass off or kick Jason’s into next year. 

“You know more about that stuff than me, rich boy.” Jason raised his glass in a mock toast. “If I were the one planning these dates, it’d be you and me at Chez Jason with only the best meat and potatoes coming out of my kitchen.”

Tim laughed and raised his glass as well, the soft _ clink _ heard only by them. “Does that mean Roy would be the sommelier?” 

“Hell, no. He’s not going anywhere near my food. Besides, you know what pairs well with pork?” 

“What?”

“Beer.” 

* * *

The thing about glass houses was that they all managed to shatter eventually.

“What did you do, Roy?” Jason lowered his gun, but only barely. Seething was a great word to describe his mood at the moment.

Roy kept his hands raised. “I accepted a $50,000 deposit—” 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.” 

“Jay, come on. We need the money. It’s just one dinner.” 

This was why Roy wasn’t in charge of anything concerning public relations with their fake restaurant. Shit like this happened. Why did he think leaving the burner phone with his partner while he went on his date with Tim would be a good idea? Because he was thinking with his dick, that’s why. Not that it saw any action tonight. It sure was conditioned to expect some though when Tim smirked like that. 

“We don’t have the money to put on an actual fucking spread that people like this are gonna expect!” Jason thumbed the safety back into place and threw the gun on the table. It landed beside the pieces of his other one that he’d taken apart to stress clean when he arrived home after his dinner with Tim. 

Good fucking lord, what were they going to do?

Roy lowered his arms. “Just calm down. We can do this. There’s still some money left over from the Croc job. All we need are a few dozen frozen dinners, some micro herbs and edible flowers, and a few boxes of cheap wine, then we’re set.” 

Jason heaved an exasperated sigh. Punching his partner would get them nowhere. “You’re forgetting appetizers and dessert.” 

“Oh, did I mention it’s a birthday party for some rich local guy?” 

“You are so lucky I’m not holding a gun right now. How many?”

“Ten.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow night.” Roy cocked his head to the side. “Does that mean you’re in?”

Fuck. Goddammit, but they did need the money. His body armor wasn’t in great condition after his bout with Croc and that shit didn’t come cheap now that he’d dropped Crime Lord from his résumé. And all of Roy’s little toys… It was either this or suck it up and ask Tim for a loan, which was _ not _ happening. 

“I hate you,” Jason pronounced as he sat heavily at the table. Rummaging around, he found the pad of paper he used for their regular shopping list and a pen. He pointed at the other chair. “Sit your ass down and help me plan this nightmare out.”

* * *

The following morning, Jason went over the list again, double and triple checking to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, but also to match up items he’d found coupons for. It would be tight, but definitely doable as long as he stayed on budget and stuck as much as possible to house brands.

Roy wasn’t allowed to go grocery shopping with him. In fact, his job was to convince Kori to come to Gotham and help them out. Jason had left the warehouse they called home with her laughter echoing through the living room.

It was good to hear it again. 

The ongoing joke about the dinner menu was that there weren’t any set dishes; rather, it was designed to portray a specific mood, some ephemeral emotion on a plate. Mixing and matching items was out of the question; but, in what he knew was a massive display of passive-aggressive behavior, he’d limited the moods to two. Or rather, they were themes instead of moods.

Light and dark. 

Maybe no one would notice that his purple mashed potatoes were actually colored with food dye. 

Jason could just imagine Alfred shaking his head in disappointment if the old butler were to ever find out about the food travesties he was about to commit. 

Fucking Roy. 

He stood in front of the canned soups trying to decide which ones fit his themes best when his phone rang. At this time of day, it could only be one person. “Dammit, Roy. You have one job to do and that’s—” 

“Good morning to you too,” Tim’s smooth voice interrupted. “I take it I don’t warrant a personalized ringtone?” 

“Sorry,” Jason replied with a massive sigh. “I go through phones like Dick does cereal. No point in making the effort.”

“Yeah, I can see that. You sound distracted, so I’ll make it quick.” Tim went all professional in nothing flat. “Remember that restaurant I was telling you about last night? The one I couldn’t get reservations to? Ridley Davenport managed to get a table for ten for his damned birthday party tonight. The jackass dropped like fifty grand to make it happen.” 

Oh fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuckity fuck. Jason didn’t need a crystal ball to see where this was going.

“I know we just had dinner last night, but I was wondering if you were free tonight to come with me?” Tim asked in a hopeful tone. “It would be date number three." 

Jason leaned against the shelf and closed his eyes. Why did shit like this always happen to him? There was no way he’d be able to keep this a secret if Tim was part of the dinner party. Did it matter though? It wasn’t his money being used to fund him and Roy, it was some rich fuck he barely remembered from the couple of years he’d attended one of the most elite schools in Gotham. 

Maybe Tim would get a good laugh when it was all said and done. 

_ Pfft _. More like he’d shit a brick because if there was one thing that Tim would go all elitist snob on, it was a good meal. He and his replacement might not have been officially together for very long, but they’d talked often enough before they started fucking each other in Gotham’s back alleys for Jason to know Tim was a food snob. 

Yeah, this was gonna go over great. 

“Sorry, but Roy and I have something lined up for tonight,” Jason lied through his teeth. Well, it wasn’t technically a lie. Really. There were fifty big ones on the line. He wasn’t about to fuck that up. 

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to change your mind?” Tim tried. “The Warehouse on Chester is one of the top-rated restaurants in Gotham. I’d really like for you to come with me.” 

Jason laughed because the alternative was to smack his head into the shelving behind him. “Sorry, babe. Unless you want to throw your name around to make it happen another night?” 

Tim wouldn’t. He hated using the pull his adopted family name warranted in this town. Bruce and Damian might not have a problem with it, but even Dick rarely ever took advantage of the doors the name Wayne opened.

Unless it was for a case. They’d all done that before. All in the name of justice.

“You know I won’t do that,” Tim replied, just as Jason had predicted. “Maybe I’ll see if Steph is available. She always likes a good meal.” He sounded disappointed. 

“We both do,” Jason chuckled, trying to keep an easy tone. “Especially when it’s on someone else’s dime.” 

“Like mine?”

“More like Bruce’s, but you’re a close second.”

* * *

Jason had every intention to hide in the kitchen the entire time this farce of a dinner party was going on. Which was fine, he had a lot to do since not everything on the menu was in the form of a reheated frozen meal or a can of soup. He had _ standards _, okay? That and coming face to face with Tim while he ate the crap he prepared in the name of fine dining was the last thing he wanted to do. He wasn’t concerned about him giving up his and Roy’s little game. It was more that he didn’t want to disappoint Tim.

The sad thing was, he was a good cook and showing Tim just what he was capable of was something he’d been looking forward to. After tonight, it was doubtful Tim would ever trust a single bite Jason gave him. 

Shoving those thoughts aside, he had to admit that Roy had done an amazing job of transforming the main floor of the warehouse into a _ unique dining experience _. Some of the reviews they’d posted included descriptions of the dining room and general ambiance. Industrial was a word that got tossed around several times and when Jason poked his head downstairs earlier, his friends had made the wide-open space live up to the promise.

The main floor of the warehouse had been relatively untouched since they took up residence in the second level offices that were wedged in along the back wall. While Roy had absconded down to the basement to turn that into his workroom, Jason had converted the breakroom into their kitchen, leaving most of the space on the ground level be. There were still empty metal shipping containers stacked high and the remains of a massive forklift sat near the entrance.

While Jason was grocery shopping, Roy and Kori cleaned out the floor space between a couple of shipping containers and set up two of Roy’s long workbenches to serve as tables. None of the chairs they’d found matched and neither would the plates Jason was using to serve the meal. 

Urban decay was another catchphrase he’d used in his fake reviews and Roy took it to heart with the lighting and sparse décor. Kori even partially destroyed the side of one of the containers, giving the edges a jagged, warped look. 

Jason shook his head. “This place would never pass a safety inspection.”

“Good thing it doesn’t have to,” the Tamaranean replied. “Although, considering how much you humans like labels, I suppose you’ll need a warning sign not to touch anything beyond the table.” 

“You just lasered that thing with your eyes. Pretty sure anything tliving on that metal is dead now.” 

Kori grinned. “Are you ready for tonight?” she asked, changing the topic. “Roy told me Tim would be here.” 

“Of course, he did.” Jason glared in the general direction his best friend had wandered off to. Kori hadn’t been around since before he and Tim got together, so for her to even mention him, it meant Roy had blabbed. “Which version of the story did he tell you?” 

“The version where you’re stupidly happy and denying yourself sex because you’re trying to conform to some sort of social norm where you don’t fuck like squirrels.” Kori’s green eyes narrowed. “Is that the right rodent? Or is it mice?” 

Jason laughed. “Rabbits, actually.”

“Fuck like rabbits,” Kori repeated, more to herself than for emphasis. Idioms were tricky in any language, especially when you knew multiple ones. “My point is, will Tim be upset that you chose this option for making money instead of asking him? You and Roy both have access to some very large bank accounts if you just spoke up.” 

“You know damn well why we won’t ever ask,” Jason replied, his mood turning sour. “There’s always a catch.”

Kori stepped forward and tapped his nose with one of her long fingers. “Tim is a catch, one that will not tie you up in strings if you should ever ask him for help.” She grinned widely, then continued. “Unless you like to be tied up. I’ve heard it’s practically an art form in some cultures.” 

Jason’s ears grew red. “We haven’t gotten that far yet.” 

Damn, would Tim be into that? He loved anime and undoubtedly knew about shibari. The thought of Tim tying him up, turning him into an art project for the photography he’d admitted to still enjoying on the side…

Later. Much later. He had to survive tonight first.

* * *

From far below, the sounds of laughter filtered up into Jason’s kitchen. Some of those laughs were fake, as was the _ clink _ of flatware on plates and the general noise associated with a small restaurant, even one who claimed to be as exclusive as the Warehouse on Chester. As Roy had explained earlier when he set up the sound system, it was all about the illusion. 

“These guys don’t know there’s no one else here but them. For all they know, each row of containers is another set of tables full of other satisfied foodies.” 

Jason mentally flipped off his partner yet again. Illusion or not, serving ten people was hard work, even with a limited menu. Kori, somewhere in her vast array of experience, had worked in an actual restaurant and knew how to time things, so that helped immensely during the final planning. She ran the food and wine while Roy chatted up the guests, pulling from his own time as the heir to Oliver Queen and all the schmoozing that came with it. He was the host, this was his brainchild, so as far as Jason was concerned, he got to be the face of it.

Looking around the kitchen, he readjusted the bandana he’d tied around his head. It was practically a sauna in here from the oven and hot plate in near constant use over the last few hours. The old refrigerator hummed loudly, which told Jason the freezer was probably about to crap out on him at any time now. That was fine, it had done its job for once. 

The kitchen door opened, letting in a gust of cool air that Jason eagerly gulped down, even if he didn’t turn away from the sink where he was catching up with the dishes. 

“How’d they like the cake?” he asked, not turning around. Chocolate lava cake and a quenelle of vanilla bean ice cream. Not fancy, but it merged the light and dark concept into one plate, so he was proud of how much time that saved him.

“So this is why you couldn’t make date number three,” Tim stated in lieu of announcing himself. 

Jason stilled. He’d wondered how long it would take for his boyfriend to make his way up here. Waiting until the end of the meal was just like him. “I can explain.”

“Kori said this was all Roy’s idea when I asked where you were.”

“She’s not wrong.” Turning, Jason met Tim’s eyes. His very amused blue eyes. Thank fuck. “I didn’t think it would actually work.” 

“If this doesn’t all come crashing down tonight, the Warehouse on Chester will be the number one restaurant in Gotham.” Tim leaned against the counter, careful not to get his crisp red dress shirt dirty. “When we met Roy down the street, I knew something was up. Just wasn’t sure if it was your brainchild or his.” 

“Definitely his,” Jason defended himself. “He trawls YouTube way too much.”

“Clearly,” Tim chuckled. “The blindfolds were a unique touch.” 

“This is our actual home. The last thing we need is company.” Jason hadn’t thought blindfolding their paying guests was a good idea, but apparently the rich assholes down below found the entire experience to be part of the fun. 

Weirdos. This was Gotham. Where the hell was their sense of self-preservation? 

“What I can’t get over is that the food snobs downstairs are actually falling for all this.” Tim glanced over his shoulder. 

“Is now a bad time to point out that you’re one of those people?” 

“I like good food. Whether that comes from a five-star restaurant or a mom and pop place, I don’t care.” 

Jason held up an empty soup can. “I don’t see this on the list.”

“That’s for when I’m lazy and can’t be bothered to go out.” Tim strode forward, reaching out to guide Jason’s hand down to the counter where he set it down. “Why did you let things get this far?” he whispered, the lean line of his body barely brushing Jason’s.

This close, the clean scent of Tim’s hair and cologne were dizzying. 

“When we started, I didn’t think anything of it. It was a joke. We weren’t ever going to actually do this and then…” Jason trailed off, not wanting to reveal the real reason why he and Roy went to all this effort. 

“And then what?” Tim prodded, tilting Jason’s chin up so that he couldn’t hide. 

Fuck. 

“We need the money,” Jason admitted, not meeting Tim’s eyes. 

“You got paid for capturing Croc, right?” Tim checked, not giving Jason any space to evade him.

“Yeah, but Roy’s shit at negotiating and I need new body armor. That ain’t cheap.” 

Tim sighed and reached up, smooshing Jason’s cheeks together firmly. “I know how you feel about asking for money from Bruce, but will you at least consider accepting it from me? Do you know how easy it is for me to raid the cave for anything you might need?” 

Jason felt like a fish and jerked his head to break the hold. “Why would you want to help me? I know we’re fuck buddies who are trying to be something more, but nowhere does it state that means you have to support me.”

“I’m not supporting you,” Tim replied, his voice taking on a hard tone that matched Jason’s own. “That implies I’m paying your rent and your groceries. But if you’re going out in the field in damaged armor and faulty weapons where I could have helped and didn’t, then that’s on me.” 

“I’m not a charity case.”

“No, that would be Roy,” Tim retorted. “Just promise me that if something like this happens again, you’ll ask.”

“It’s still Bruce’s money,” Jason replied, stubborn to the last. 

Tim smacked him upside the head, hard. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have a job that pays in the middle six figures every year. I don’t need Bruce. Haven’t for a while.” 

Oh. Oh, well that was an entirely different story. It was easy to forget that Tim was a legitimate employee of Wayne Enterprises. Sure it was still Bruce’s company, but Jason knew the man standing before him had more of a right to be there than their mentor did. Tim _ cared _ about what happened at WE itself rather than what it provided them with for the never-ending quest for justice. To Bruce, his family’s company was a means to an end. To Tim, it was something to be protected. 

“I’m still going to give you shit about it,” Jason stated. This was the closest he’d come to outright accepting the offer.

“You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.” Tim rose on his toes and pressed a soft kiss into the corner of Jason’s mouth. 

Jason chased after him, capturing those lips before they had a chance to withdraw very far. They weren’t supposed to do this until after the third date, but fuck it, he’d had a long and very stressful day. Tim melted against him, wrapping strong arms around his neck to hold him close as they delved into each other. 

A sharp knock at the door forced them to take a breather as Roy poked his head in. “Hey lovebirds, I don’t mean to interrupt, but one of the guys downstairs is looking for you, Tim.”

“Fuck,” Tim growled, untangling his fingers from Jason’s messy hair. “Can’t you just sedate everyone and let them sleep it off?”

Jason caught hold of Tim’s hand as he withdrew and pressed a kiss into the palm. “Come back here tomorrow and I’ll make you a three-course meal.”

“Date number three?” Tim asked with a wicked gleam in his eyes. 

“I’ll even bust out my special sauce.” 

That came out wrong because Tim’s attention instantly dropped below his waist. It was clear he was about to make a quip, but Roy, bless him or curse him, spoke up first. 

“Oh my god, are you making the barbeque sauce? Please tell me you are. I could bathe in that shit, it’s so damned good.”

Tim couldn’t keep a straight face, and neither could he. Jason laughed, looping an arm over Tim’s shoulders as he walked him to the door. 

“Roy, I fucking hate you. Way to ruin the moment, man.” 

“What’d I do?”

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bqPARIKHbN8


End file.
